No More Roses
by Kristafied
Summary: Sequel to Magnificent Lasagne and Artificial Worms. Nick and Sara work together to solve the case at the end of Magnificent Lasagne. Romance ensues.
1. Chapter 1

No More Roses

by Kristafied

Rating: M (for language and smut)

A/N: This is the second part of the Magnificent Lasagne series. This picks up literally where part one leaves off, but it is told from Sara's POV as well as Nick's. This series started after the events of Grave Danger and diverges from canon at that point to become pretty much completely AU. If you haven't read Magnificent Lasagne, this story will not make much sense.

Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn't have all this debt from grad school.

XXXXXX

Very Early Sunday Morning -- Sara

Sara caught up with Grissom as he was lifting the hatch on the back of the Denali to place the evidence inside. She scoped his backside, mostly out of habit, as he bent to give the box a final shove. For a middle-aged, bow-legged entomologist, the man could move quickly when he wanted, and clearly, he was hell-bent on getting back to the lab.

Without turning to look at her, he slammed the hatch and trundled over to the driver's side, jingling his keys from his pocket as he went. Sara sighed. _Oh, well, let the silent treatment begin._ For all her tough talk to Nick, and to Grissom on the phone earlier, Sara still cringed at the awkwardness which was thundering across the skies of her personal forecast.

Deciding to let Grissom get over his snit at his own pace, Sara stared out the window at the lights flickering past. What a week. What a month. Her lips twitched. What a decade, really. She had loved Grissom for so long that she'd forgotten what not loving him felt like.

It was like a chronic ache that she'd learned to work around, one of the major turning points of Sara Sidle's life: her father's murder, going to Harvard, moving back to California for her masters from Berkeley, dropping out of the PhD program to take her first job in San Francisco, and the seminar where she'd met Gil Grissom. At some point during his lecture, Grissom's salt-and-pepper curls, bright blue eyes, unapologetic intelligence and total geekiness had cast a spell on her that she'd despaired of ever breaking.

Part of the problem, she'd figured out a few years ago, was that Grissom, deep down, didn't want to break the spell. He loved her; he just didn't love her more than he was afraid of her. Sara's brain had catalogued a thousand small moments of intimacy with Grissom around which she had built her dreams for the man, and each and every one of them came at the price of her happiness and peace of mind.

If Grissom had been a bolt from the blue, Nick had snuck up on her like a change of seasons. He was just always _there_, funny and flirtatious, always lightening the mood, always friendly without being a doormat, and she'd written him off at first. Too handsome, too suave, too Southern-sweet, too obviously a ladies' man, not smart enough – not as smart as Grissom. Compared to Grissom, no one ever measured up.

Except Nick was smart, she'd realized after a while. His intelligence was different than Grissom's – and hers, for that matter – but it was real. Once she got to know him a little better, what struck her most about Nick was his innocence. An odd quality in a grown man, but true nonetheless. Sara's mother, who had regained her footing in the world post-incarceration as a flaky, overgrown hippie, would probably call him a young soul.

The more she'd worked with Nick, the more she'd talked to him – listened to him – the more she'd liked him. And things might have gone on that way indefinitely, had it not been for what Sara thought of as the newest addition to her list of important moments: Nick in the box.

That first view of Nick, buried alive, screaming and thrashing in total panic, had been a body blow. The team had stood around the monitor for a long time, transfixed and horrified as the situation became clear. Sara had been the first to break away; she had sprinted on unsteady legs for the ladies' room and vomited until her stomach was cramping and empty. As she'd leaned against the toilet seat catching her breath, one thought had calcified in her brain and she'd clung to it until she saw Nick's body, damaged but free, quivering on the dirt at the nursery: _I must save him._

When they'd loaded him into the ambulance, Sara had been stunned at the _need_ she'd felt to follow. Grissom had made his quiet demand to Ecklie, but other than that, no one had spoken until Greg had made a move to start collecting evidence. Grissom had grabbed his sleeve briefly, muttered, "Go home, Greg, none of us have slept in days," and turned toward his vehicle.

Sara and Greg followed him; all five of them had ridden to the nursery together in Grissom's SUV in mute solidarity – they were a team again, and they would find their Nicky together – and the three who remained climbed numbly back into the vehicle to leave. Grissom had made to return to the lab until Sara, seeing the turn-off to the hospital, had emitted an odd, choked noise that she couldn't have labeled. Grissom hadn't even glanced at her; he'd merely flipped on the blinker and made the turn. Greg, from the back seat, had whispered, "Thanks," but it had otherwise been an eerily silent ride.

Nick had been in the trauma bay when they'd arrived, and could not yet see visitors, so they'd looked for the waiting room. There they had found Warrick propped against a wall with his arms around Catherine and his chin on the crown of her head, their dusty faces streaked with exhausted tears. Neither had made any move to disentangle, but Warrick had nodded at Grissom when they'd entered the room. Greg had gone searching for coffee almost immediately, and Grissom had slumped into a chair like someone had cut his strings. Sara had paced. _I must save him. I must _see_ him._ No one had commented when she'd left the room.

_I must see him._ She'd seen the Employees Only door to the back of the ER on her first lap around the hall, and she'd made her way toward it as nonchalantly as possible, straightening her clothes and arranging her clipped-on ID badge to look as official as possible, and the next time the door opened, she strode through it.

She was able to locate him easily by following the swarm of people to the trauma bay. There were two cops standing unofficial post outside the curtained area, but they recognized her and simply nodded as she slipped into the room as unobtrusively as possible to flatten herself against a wall and watch.

They'd cut his clothes off, and a nurse was shoving them into a plastic bag with gloved hands. Without thinking, Sara reached out for the bag. The nurse glanced at her quizzically and was about to open her mouth when Sara held up her badge. The unsealed bag was passed to her, and Sara found herself clutching it to her body as she continued to stand and watch. A minute later, the nurse who'd handed her the bag was standing in front of her again with something silver glinting on her palm. Nick's watch. Sara reached out a trembling hand and took it, closing it inside her fist.

Nick was shaking all over, and his breathing had become labored. Sara's hands twitched to touch him, but she restrained herself by hugging the bag tighter to her middle. Under the harsh fluorescent glare, the bites from the fire ants looked red and angry, and she was shocked at the sheer number of them. One of the doctors, standing by Nick's head, listened with a stethoscope for a minute and called out, "He's really stridorous. Let's start the rapid-sequence intubation now."

It was fast. One minute, Nick was moving, the next he was completely still as a white liquid flowed into the IV in his arm. At his head, the doctor who'd yelled for intubation had a metal tool holding Nick's mouth open and was passing a tube down his throat. "I'm in."

A man in tan scrubs passed the doctor a hose with a bag on the end, which was hooked to the tube and squeezed for a few minutes until someone else brought a machine into the room and swapped out the bag for a different hose that connected to the machine. The flurry of activity continued as different people pumped medicines and fluids into Nick's IV, and a young woman bared his hip and swabbed it with brown fluid before plunging a large needle into him. Sara jumped at the blood that gushed out of the needle, but the doctor didn't seem phased and simply kept working until another IV was running and the blood was swabbed up with paper towels. "Trauma line in, we've got the One-Line going for fluid resuscitation."

"Is CT ready for us?"

"Yes."

"Okay, get him on a portable monitor and let's go."

A few more minutes of activity and they were gone, wheeling Nick, covered now in a hospital gown and blankets someone had pulled out of a stainless steel cabinet in the far corner of the room. Sara stood unmoving for a moment, clutching the bag of his clothes. She was about to follow Nick down the hall when she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder. "Sara? Honey?"

How Grissom had made it past security she didn't know, but there he was. His eyes were droopy with exhaustion and his hair was disheveled, but his hand on her arm was warm and steady. She stared at him. "Honey, how long have you been standing there?"

The tears she'd been fighting since she'd first seen the video fought their way to the surface. Grissom's eyes widened in dismay. Seeing his expression, Sara thrust the bag of clothes into his arms and bolted.

Brass was the one who found her, ten minutes later, crouched at the service entrance by a dumpster, sobbing into her folded arms with her hand still clenched around Nick's watch. Scrunching up his nose at her choice of refuge, Brass had lowered himself beside her with a grunt, and slung an arm around her, pulling her head onto his shoulder. "Aw, kid, don't cry. He's okay." He'd sat with her until she'd cried herself out, patting her back occasionally, then helped her to her feet and half-carried her first up to the ICU to see Nick sleeping peacefully with the tube still in his mouth, and then to a borrowed cruiser to drive her home.

After Brass had dropped her off, she'd slept like the dead for almost eighteen hours. It was while she was showering off the grime of their ordeal that she'd formed her resolve to watch over Nick while he recovered. No one would ever hurt him again, not on her watch.

Sara's musings had taken her through most of the car ride back to the lab. If Grissom had done anything but glare at the oncoming headlights, she hadn't noticed. She supposed she should force the issue and talk to him about what was happening, but she just couldn't summon the energy at the moment. Instead, she decided to sit back for a few minutes and enjoy the change of seasons.


	2. Chapter 2

No More Roses

by Kristafied

Rating: M (for language and smut)

A/N: This is the second part of the Magnificent Lasagne series. This picks up literally where part one leaves off, but it is told from Sara's POV as well as Nick's. This series started after the events of Grave Danger and diverges from canon at that point to become pretty much completely AU. If you haven't read Magnificent Lasagne, this story will not make much sense.

Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn't have all this debt from grad school.

XXXXX

Sunday End of Graveyard Shift -- Sara

Sara sat on the break room couch with her head tipped against the back and her legs splayed out in front of her in what Catherine had referred to as an "unladylike sprawl," before retreating to the trace lab with a wicked grin on her face. The autopsy had been fairly inconclusive as to cause of death. No fractures, no evidence of gunshot or stab wounds, but the bloodwork and DNA swabs were still pending. X-rays of the girl's dental work had been taken, but her teeth had been fairly healthy – only two small fillings in her molars – so she was waiting for Brass and Nick to return from the home of Sapphira Jackson.

She hadn't seen Nick since she'd left the scene in the crack house; she had been processing the girl's clothes and the trace from the body so Brass had radioed to say he'd meet Nick at the address on file. While waiting, she'd finished processing evidence from the body itself and had started on the debris that had been closest to the girl before she'd realized she was famished and gone in search of sustenance.

Her rummage through the break room fridge had turned up a take-out container filled with mold, two of Grissom's experiments, which she'd returned to their shelf with a rueful shake of her head, and one fat-free yogurt nearing the end of its useful life, which she claimed as her own before retreating to the couch.

Her eyes were closing and Sara thought wistfully of her own bed, but she realized that Nick still had his truck and figured she'd wait for his return. Surely a nap wouldn't hurt while she waited. After all, she hadn't gotten much sleep the day before, she reminded herself with a satisfied smirk. Yes, a nap would do her a world of good...

Someone was prying the yogurt container from her hand and she let them. A hand smoothed her hair back from her forehead and cupped her cheek gently. _Nick,_ she thought to herself, and turned her head to kiss him on the palm. The same hands lifted her slightly and she found herself on her side with her head on what felt like a folded-up windbreaker which smelled comforting and familiar. Lips brushed lightly over her forehead, and she whispered, "Thanks, baby," and reached up for a real kiss. Warm lips met hers, froze for a moment, and then opened. Sara hummed. So nice, so sweet, such a lovely mouth, such ticklish... whiskers?

Her eyes opened and Sara pulled back from Grissom with a shocked gasp. Something beyond Grissom's shoulder hit the ground with a nasty cracking sound. Sara sat up abruptly to find Nick in the doorway, a bag of take-out leaking iced tea at his feet and a look of total devastation warring with anger on his pale face. She looked back at Grissom, who was unable to meet her eyes and was chewing his lips with a guilty countenance. When she returned her gaze to the doorway, Nick was gone. Shit.


	3. Chapter 3

No More Roses

by Kristafied

Rating: M (for language and smut)

A/N: This is the second part of the Magnificent Lasagne series. This picks up literally where part one leaves off, but it is told from Sara's POV as well as Nick's. This series started after the events of Grave Danger and diverges from canon at that point to become pretty much completely AU. If you haven't read Magnificent Lasagne, this story will not make much sense. The character of Cocoa Day Jackson comes from _Mama Day_ by Gloria Naylor. I've invented the rest of her immediate family, but her great-aunt was the title character in the original book.

Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn't have all this debt from grad school.

XXXXXXX

End of Graveyard Shift, Sunday – Nick

He'd been in such a good mood. He'd eaten his favorite take-out with the woman he was beginning to suspect was the love of his life. They'd been able to work well together, and had even done okay with Grissom. When Brass had radioed him to meet at the Jacksons' home, he'd hit mostly green lights and had been waiting at the curb. And best of all, the purse and wallet had been stolen: Sapphira Jackson herself had answered the door wearing rumpled pajamas and a sleepy expression.

They'd sat in the Jacksons' kitchen sipping coffee from the large pot Mrs. Jackson had been brewing when they arrived. Nick had inhaled deeply and smiled. "Wow. This is delicious, but I've never tasted anything quite like it before. What kind of coffee is this, Mrs. Jackson?"

Bud Jackson had laughed heartily. "Family secret. Cocoa's from a long line of magicians."

Cocoa cut her eyes at Bud. "Don't be a fool, honey, however hard that is for you."

Bud continued to chuckle, clearly enjoying a running joke between them, before he clarified, "My wife is an herbalist; runs a store a few miles from here. Learned it from her great-aunt – family tradition. It's best not to ask what's in there. She says it keeps me honest."

Sapphira's purse had been stolen, she had suspected one of the girls at school from her homeroom who'd been in and out of trouble, but hadn't been able to prove anything. Nick and Brass wrote down the name of the girl in question and bid the Jacksons a good morning. Cocoa had given Nick a long, penetrating stare as she'd shaken his hand. "Good luck." He hadn't been able to shake the feeling that she was not just talking about the case.

He and Brass had parted company at the curb, Brass to run down this new lead and Nick to follow up on the existing evidence. Feeling magnanimous after the events of the previous few days, Nick decided to pick up some breakfast for the team on his way back to the lab, and managed to wedge drinks and pastries into one large brown bag.

Whistling as he ambled toward the break room, Nick slowed as he saw Grissom's bent back through the glass walls. By the time he'd reached the doorway, he'd made out Sara's long legs stretched out on the couch and one of her hands threaded through Grissom's hair in the same way she had been touching Nick's a few hours earlier. She was making the aroused humming noise he loved... while kissing Grissom.

The bag slipped from his hand and Nick tried to keep his composure. The sound of the iced tea bottle cracking broke their little spell and Sara's shocked eyes stared at him over Grissom's shoulder before turning to look at the sheepish entomologist, who appeared rooted in place.

Nick didn't wait around for whatever came next.

XXXXXXX

Sunday, noonish – Nick

Someone must have sent Warrick looking for him, Nick concluded sourly when he saw his tall friend scanning the sports bar they usually frequented for their forays into manly diversions. The Jack and Cokes he'd drunk before switching to straight whiskey had numbed his taste buds and allowed him to swill like a pro, as opposed to the lightweight Nick knew himself to be. The great thing about Vegas, Nick mused, was that you could always find an open bar.

Warrick spotted him and made his way over to ease onto the empty stool next to his friend, regarding him cautiously. Nick ignored him and stared at the ball game on television. They sat in silence for a few moments before Warrick asked, "Who's winning?"

"Grissom."

Warrick ordered a Coors Lite and settled in.


	4. Chapter 4

No More Roses

by Kristafied

Rating: M (for language and smut)

A/N: This is the second part of the Magnificent Lasagne series. This picks up literally where part one leaves off, but it is told from Sara's POV as well as Nick's. This series started after the events of Grave Danger and diverges from canon at that point to become pretty much completely AU. If you haven't read Magnificent Lasagne, this story will not make much sense.

Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn't have all this debt from grad school.

XXXXX

Sunday morning – Sara

What a fucking disaster. Sara sat in the diner with her head on the formica waiting for Grissom to show up. Immediately after their kiss, he'd scuttled back to his office and tried to hide. Sara had gone looking for Nick, but he'd beaten her to the parking lot and she'd seen his truck squeak the curb as he'd hightailed it out of there. His cell phone was off and he wasn't answering his pager. She'd left three messages asking him to call her and had gone stalking back into the building with a predatory glare that had sent people diving out of her way.

She'd slammed the door to Grissom's office with herself inside. He'd jumped and dropped the paperwork he was pretending to read. He was trying very hard to keep his expression bland, she could see, but she wasn't having it. "You will be at the diner down the street from your townhouse in one hour or you will have my letter of resignation on your desk in two."

He'd opened his mouth but she hadn't let him speak. "One hour, Grissom. We are _going_ to talk about this."

She'd cabbed home to pick up her car, then hauled ass to the diner in a record forty-five minutes. Grissom had two minutes left to make her deadline. She was willing to wait five more, to account for traffic and stalling tactics, but after that he was on his own.

The bell attached to the door jingled and Grissom paused in the entryway, looking for her. She stared at him until his gaze swung around to her table and he took a deep breath before approaching. Sara noticed that his hand was flexing and relaxing at his side the way he did whenever he was nervous or intrigued. He slid into the booth without taking his eyes from hers and sat in silence, clearly indicating the ball was in her court.

"I thought you were Nick. That's why I kissed you."

He flinched and looked away. "You're one of those people who believes in ripping the band-aid off quickly, aren't you?"

"Ten years is _quickly_ to you?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it." His defensive snap was cut short when the waitress approached and poured them cups of coffee. Grissom folded his hands around his mug as if for warmth and hunched his shoulders. "I know I made mistakes..."

Sara didn't let him finish. "Grissom... Gil. I need you to really listen to me for a few minutes." Wounded blue eyes found hers and she had to force herself not to back down and let him off the hook. She knew that he really didn't want to have this conversation. "I think you know that I love you, that I have loved you for a long time."

Sara felt her eyes filling with tears; this was not how she'd imagined ever telling him.

"It's not enough anymore. I need someone who can trust me, talk to me, who is willing to let me know him. It's the only way I'll ever be able to reciprocate -- I have to be with someone who is willing to let himself be vulnerable first. You can't do that. You're too much like me. Neither of us is brave enough for that. Nick is." She swiped at her eyes, relieved that the urge to weep had subsided. "Nick is brave enough to do that with me. No games, no power plays, no bullshit – he's just himself. He's just... a good person, and I'm in love with him."

Grissom sat back in the booth, studying her face intently but not interrupting. She continued. "I am really upset about what happened in the break room, and I have no one to blame but myself. I have no idea how I'm going to regain Nick's trust, but I'm going to do my damnedest because he's worth it. Griss," she reached across the table and took his hand in both of hers, feeling oddly relieved that his palm was as damp as her own, "I will always love you, loving you is a part of who I am, but my future is with Nick."

They sat unmoving for long moments before Grissom cleared his throat. His voice was hoarse but gentle when he finally spoke. "I know, honey. We both love you, but Nick knows how to let you love him back." He cleared his throat again. "Sara... I always have, you know. Loved you. Since the first minute I saw you. I want..." He licked his lips and seemed to gain confidence. "I have loved you for ten years, Sara. Before I can let go, I want to kiss you, just once, when you know it's me."

Sara froze. This was probably a bad idea. If anyone saw them, she would have made a difficult situation impossible. She looked down at her cooling coffee, and realized that she knew what her answer would be. She was a scientist; she needed empirical data.

Looking up, Sara slid smoothly out of her side of the booth and next to a surprised Grissom. His voice cracked and his eyes darted around the room. "Here?"

"Here or nowhere, Griss." She placed a palm on either side of his face, taking a moment to savor the prickle of his beard under her hands, inhaling his personal scent, soaking in every detail. She gave him a few breaths to catch up, then watched his eyes darken and felt his hands on her shoulders, the fingertips caressing her clavicles. He leaned forward and Sara let her eyes drift shut.

He tasted like coffee and Grissom. His lips were soft beneath the whiskers and he was a skilled and purposeful kisser. Sara felt herself melt a little and relaxed into the sensual kiss. Somewhere in the back of her mind, however, was Nick. His kisses didn't allow for emotional distance. His hands would have been in her hair, he would have drawn her lower lip between his teeth, and he would have pulled her closer, his mouth on her neck, whispering in her ear between kisses, "Love you, darlin', want you so bad..."

Grissom's lips left hers. Sara took her time opening her eyes and when she did, she found herself drowning in his sorrowful blue gaze. Grissom leaned forward for a final quick peck. "Go find Nicky, Sara. He needs you."

As she started her car, Sara glanced back through the window to see Grissom still in the booth, staring straight ahead with his fingertips against his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

No More Roses

by Kristafied

Rating: M (for language and smut)

A/N: This is the second part of the Magnificent Lasagne series. This picks up literally where part one leaves off, but it is told from Sara's POV as well as Nick's. This series started after the events of Grave Danger and diverges from canon at that point to become pretty much completely AU. If you haven't read Magnificent Lasagne, this story will not make much sense.

Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn't have all this debt from grad school.

XXXXX

Sunday early afternoon – Nick

This was the most comfortable bar in the world. Nick had his head pillowed on his folded arms and was slurring his speech as he filled Warrick in on the scene in the breakroom, interspersing his account with the basic outline of their date and its intense but wonderful aftermath – electing to leave out the part with his panic attack, in the interest of masculine pride. Warrick had wisely kept himself to sodas and the occasional beer and had allowed his friend to get shit-faced drunk.

Warrick's cell chirped out a tinny rendition of _Gin and Juice, _ which caused Nick to roll his eyes and snicker. Warrick slid Nick's glass away from him, glanced at the screen, and stood, turning his back and walking a few paces away. Nick's foggy brain knew this was suspicious behavior, but he didn't really feel like arguing. A few moments later, Warrick returned to their home base at the bar without explanation and picked up his soda.

"Which one was it?" Nick let his eyes stay on the ball game and his speech was muffled by the sleeve of his shirt.

"It was Glinda the Good Witch, and she was telling me it's time to cart your drunk ass home."

Nick smiled. "Well, okay, then, but I'm not wearing no damned sparkly shoes. Just give me a ride in your truck and we'll call it even."

He weaved when he walked, but he made it to Warrick's SUV on his own two feet. As they entered the parking garage, Warrick asked, "Wallet and keys in your pocket?"

"Yes, mom."

As they turned into Nick's neighborhood, Warrick glanced over at his friend. "What do you think you're going to do?"

"Well," Nick paused, "I'd like to think I'll tell her to fuck off and never speak to me again. Maybe have some hot, half-dressed blonde drop me off at work one night so Sara can see me, or light a bag of dog shit on Grissom's front porch, or poke holes in all their condoms so they end up making geek babies that will scare Grissom to death..." Nick let his mind wander for a moment, considering and discarding several other plans for revenge suitable for teenaged boys. "But really, I figure I'll let her track me down and explain, if she's willing to make the effort. She's gon' to have to take the inish... inish... initiative, though. I may love the woman, but I ain't her bitch."

"So if Sara wanted to talk to you, you'd be willing to listen?"

Nick stared at his friend as Warrick allowed the SUV to glide to a stop in front of Nick's house. "I guess so, why?"

"It wasn't Glinda the Good Witch on the phone before."

"No shit, partner." Nick turned around. Sitting on his front steps in a huddle of limbs with her cheek on her knees was Sara. She heard the car and looked up, standing quickly. Nick could see her hands knotting together before she jammed her fists into her jeans pockets. Nick raised his eyebrows at Warrick.

His friend winked at him. "Bounce your ass outta my ride, white boy. There's a good-looking woman on your front porch and if I don't come home soon, my wife's gonna have me sleeping on your living room couch."

They exchanged a quick fist-tap and Nick exited the car, carefully keeping himself upright and attempting to maintain as much dignity as he could. He stopped about three paces in front of Sara and folded his arms across his chest. He would listen, but she had to talk first. And, Nick mused with grim humor, she had some 'splainin' to do.


	6. Chapter 6

No More Roses

by Kristafied

Rating: M (for language and smut)

A/N: This is the second part of the Magnificent Lasagne series. This picks up literally where part one leaves off, but it is told from Sara's POV as well as Nick's. This series started after the events of Grave Danger and diverges from canon at that point to become pretty much completely AU. If you haven't read Magnificent Lasagne, this story will not make much sense.

Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn't have all this debt from grad school.

XXXXX

Sunday Afternoon -- Sara's POV

There are few certainties in life, Sara thought grimly, but one of them is that I have absolutely no luck in the romance department – unless you count bad luck. They stood there on Nick's sidewalk for a few long moments, Nick doing his best to glare and look stern while swaying on his feet and sweating out Jack Daniels, Sara conducting a frantic internal search for her normally prodigious vocabulary, and just as she was about to open her mouth, _both_ their pagers went off.

Brass had located the family of Karen Lewis, the girl Sapphira had suspected of stealing her purse. Sure enough, she hadn't been heard from in several weeks. Her teachers hadn't picked up on it because her disappearance coincided with the end of the school year, and her mother hadn't filed a report because she was too busy skin-popping and trading sex for heroin from her dealer, Big Mike. Brass had tracked down Sharon Lewis in the local ER, where she was being treated for a tangerine-sized abscess in her arm while cuffed to the stretcher for assaulting the nurse who'd tried to draw her blood.

He was heading over there, he said when Sara returned his page, and wanted to know if she and Nick would meet him in the ER. Sara took one look at Nick, whose eyes were closing involuntarily despite his curiosity about the case, and told Brass that Nick was working on something else but she'd be there in twenty minutes. When she folded her phone shut, Nick gave her a half-smile and a shrug. "I'd come with you, but..."

Sara grinned back and finished, "... you're hammered."

That seemed to remind him of why he was hammered in the first place, and his brows drew together and his jaw tightened. Sara reached out to touch his arm, and tried not to be hurt when he stepped back out of her reach. She had to fix this, pronto. Bracing herself, she took a deep breath, figuring the direct approach had worked once today and it was worth another shot.

"I was asleep and I thought he was you. After you left, I tracked him down and told him so. We talked and cleared up any misconceptions. He knows I'm with you, and only you." Sara searched Nick's face, anxiously seeking some softening of his features. He'd raised one eyebrow in disbelief but his glare had thawed. She stepped closer again, reaching out for his shoulders and was gratified that he didn't step away this time. "I told him I was in love with you, Nick."

At that, she saw the anger melt from his eyes and he stepped forward to wrap his arms around her. Tension drained out of her, leaving her exhausted as she slumped her chin onto his shoulder. "I'm so sorry about all this, babe. I want us to be able to trust each other, and I blow it on the first day."

Nick's body started shaking. Sara pulled back in alarm and was shocked to find him laughing so hard tears streamed from his bloodshot eyes. "Nick?" 

He struggled to speak but was overtaken with another fit of snorts and guffaws. The sheer absurdity of it tugged a smile to her lips. "_Nick_?"

"Sorry..." chortle "...I just..." snort "...can't believe you confused _me.._." whoop "...with _Grissom_." He paused for breath and turned his head to let out a loud, whiskey-tainted belch. "'Scuse me." Sara started to giggle. Nick turned back toward her and continued. "I guess I'm just drunk enough to believe you – and to think that may be the funniest fuckin' thing I've ever heard. You thought _Grissom_ was me. For Chrissakes, Sara, Grissom has a _beard_!"

Sara was blushing furiously and took a step back to ball her fists on her hips. "I was out cold, Nick – I've got this new boyfriend who hasn't been letting me get any sleep – and for the record," she felt herself start to snicker, "the beard was what tipped me off, too."

That set them both off. Nick wrapped his arms around Sara and they leaned against each other for several long minutes, relishing the goofiness of the moment and each other's closeness. Brass was groused that she was fifteen minutes late to meet him at the hospital, but Sara decided it was worth it.


	7. Chapter 7

No More Roses

by Kristafied

Rating: M (for language and smut)

A/N: This is the second part of the Magnificent Lasagne series. This picks up literally where part one leaves off, but it is told from Sara's POV as well as Nick's. This series started after the events of Grave Danger and diverges from canon at that point to become pretty much completely AU. If you haven't read Magnificent Lasagne, this story will not make much sense.

Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn't have all this debt from grad school.

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Sunday Afternoon -- Sara POV

The ER was noisy, smelly, and crowded, and Sharon Lewis was handcuffed to a stretcher in the isolation room with a large, glowering uniformed officer posted just inside the door. Sharon's forearm was bandaged and a small amount of blood had soaked through the gauze. She was scratching at her scarred skin and studiously avoiding eye contact with the cop. Sara glanced at Sharon, then the officer, then back to Brass. "What's with Sanderson?"

Brass grinned. "The nurse she took a swing at was Sanderson's fiancée. He showed up two hours early for shift just for this."

Sara smirked, singing, "It's a small world after all..."

Brass shook his head. "Don't quit your day job, kid." As they entered the small examining room, his demeanor hardened. "Sharon Lewis?" The woman nodded, her unkempt braids falling into her face. "Are you the mother of Karen Lewis?"

Sharon's posture morphed from cowed to indignant. "Aw, man, what's that little pain in my ass got herself into now? That girl ain't been nothin' but trouble her whole damn life."

"Well, she may not be a pain in anyone's ass anymore." Sara could tell Sharon had hit a sore spot with Brass by the way he went straight to the autopsy photo of Karen's dessicated face. "Is this your daughter?" He had to jump to avoid the stream of vomit as Sharon turned her head to the side and pushed the photo away with her unbound hand. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Put it away!" Sharon leaned her head back against the stretcher, eyes tightly closed. Sara grimaced at the smell and gestured for Sanderson to get someone to clean up the vomit. Sharon's voice was ragged. "What the hell happened to her?"

Sara jumped in. "That's what we're trying to figure out, Ms. Lewis. When did you see your daughter last?"

"I dunno. It's been a few weeks. She comes and goes, and I," Sharon's eyes met Sara's and she shrugged, "I don't pay her much mind. The state took her away last year, but I got into a rehab program and they brought her back. I figured they'd come for her again since I been usin'. The school sent a letter a few months ago that she was skippin' class, so I just figured they called the state again."

Sara's jaw was clenched. "Did you talk to anyone from Child Services? Did anyone attempt to contact you about Karen? Any letters or phone calls? Any indication that she'd been placed in a foster or group home?"

Sharon shrugged again. "Not that I know of. I'm not really around much, and last time I went by my apartment my bitch landlord had dumped my shit out by the curb, so I been staying with my boyfriend for a few weeks."

Sara's eye twitched, and she felt her hand go to her holster. Brass interrupted before Sara could open her mouth. "By boyfriend, I assume you mean Big Mike, your dealer?"

"He's my boyfriend, he takes care of me."

"Yeah, he's a prince among men." Brass responded dryly. "Where was Karen the last time you saw her?"

Sharon pursed her lips. "You believe that damn kid came down to Big Mike's to look for me? Screamin' about how we been evicted and where she gonna go. I told her she's a big girl now, figure it out for herself. When I was her age, I was on my own. Anyway, Big Mike said he'd take care of it. He took her back downstairs and I ain't seen her since."

Sara was leaning over the stretcher, her face inches from Sharon's. "She was twelve years old. How exactly did you think she'd get by on her own? And what do you think Big Mike meant when he said he'd 'take care of it'?" She felt Brass' hand grab her belt loop and pull her back, but maintained her eye contact with Sharon until the woman looked away.

Brass gathered the rest of the particulars. Sara recognized Big Mike's address as the crack house where Karen's body had been found. She plunged one fist into her jeans pocket and gripped her kit tightly to stop her hands from shaking as she stalked ahead of Brass out of the ER.

Brass looked her up and down. "When's the last time you got any sleep, kid?"

Her last nap had been on the couch in the break room. Where she'd kissed Grissom. A bitter, half-hysterical laugh huffed out between her lips. Brass folded his arms. "That long, eh? Go home and sleep. We'll check with Child Services, pick up Big Mike, and get a warrant to search our Mother of the Year's old apartment. I'll talk to the landlord about when she evicted them, see if the timeline matches up. By the time you wake up, we'll be ready for you to process."

Sara opened her mouth to protest, but Brass waved his cell phone at her. "Go home, or I'll call in the big guns."

She grunted and headed for her car.

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Sunday night -- Nick's POV

Nick unglued his eyelids, pried open his mouth, and lifted his throbbing head off the pillow. He was still dressed in his clothes from the day before, although he'd managed to kick off his boots before succumbing to the Gods of Horizontal. Grabbing the glass of stale water on his bedside table, he chugged it and finished pulling himself upright. It was only eight o'clock; why the hell was he awake?

The timid knock on his front door repeated itself, answering his question. Nick fumbled through his living room and pulled the door open, revealing Sara Sidle in old sweats and ragged sneakers, her eyes red and her hands shaking. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I couldn't sleep. That woman..." She ran her hands over her face, digging her knuckles into her eyes so deeply that Nick winced. "She was just... awful."

Nick's chivalry kicked in and he pulled Sara off the front stoop and into the house, towing her silently through the living room and into his bathroom, where he parked her on the closed toilet seat and started the shower before grabbing his toothbrush and scouring out his swamp-like mouth. Sara's expression had gone from despondent to puzzled to amused by the time they'd completed their brief journey and he'd spit and rinsed.

Shelving his toothbrush, Nick knelt in front of Sara, took her face in his hands, and kissed her thoroughly. When she was sufficiently glass-eyed, he stood and pulled off his shirt, tugged her to her feet and divested her of her shirt and bra, then backed up so they could each remove their own pants. He stepped under the warm spray of water and reached out his hand for her to join him. He molded her body to his own, tucked her head against his neck, and swayed them gently back and forth until he felt her relax. "Do you want to talk about it, darlin'?"

He felt her smile against his shoulder. "I thought I did, but now I think I just want to stay like this for a while."

Nick mentally patted himself on the back as he turned his head to kiss her wet hair. "We can stay like this forever if you want – or at least as long as my hot-water tank holds out." She squeezed her arms around his back and chuffed out a tired laugh.

Forever turned out to be about fifteen minutes before the cooling water woke them both from a standing doze. Nick helped her stumble past the curtain, gave himself a quick rinse, and twisted the knobs to off. They toweled themselves haphazardly and trudged across the hall to Nick's bedroom, where they collapsed into a tangle of warm, clean limbs and Nick pulled the quilt over them. He fell asleep to the rhythmic sound of Sara's breathing and her hair dampening his pillow.


	8. Chapter 8

No More Roses

by Kristafied

Rating: Teen (for language and mild smut)

A/N: Thanks to januarynineteen, for the goosing that led me to pick up this story again. Sorry for the long delay, life has been nuts lately.

Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn't have all this debt from grad school.

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Very, Very Early Monday morning, Sara's POV

She was dreaming about Nick in the ICU again, but it wasn't a nightmare this time. In actual fact, Nick had only spent one day on the ventilator before they'd been able to extubate him, but the vision of him with the tubes in his nose and mouth, unmoving, every visible inch of skin covered in red welts, had stayed with her. She'd visited him each of the four days he'd been in the hospital for at least an hour, but had been terrified to touch him other than to place her fingertips on the back of his swollen hand while he was asleep. She'd rambled on about how glad she was he was alive, but only when they were alone; and usually someone else was there in the room to do the talking – his parents, the team, his friends. She'd been relieved that no girlfriends had come to visit, for reasons she'd chosen not to examine to closely.

Sometimes, she'd have nightmares about him never waking up, or watching him die, slowly, on that monitor in the AV lab, or him and Grissom both dying in the explosion at the nursery. This was not one of those dreams.

She was visiting him in the hospital, but it wasn't the ICU at Desert Palms. The welts were gone, there were no tubes or wires, and Nick was curled up on his side the way she now knew he slept when he was home. One whole side of the room was a window looking out onto the woods that she remembered from Tamales Bay behind her parents' B&B. The other walls of the hospital room were a warm yellow, and there were dozens of framed snapshots tacked haphazardly around. Nick slept on and she found herself exploring the room.

There were wedding pictures of herself and Nick, and the dream Sara was not surprised to see the dull gold gleam of a ring on her left hand, which seemed more hollow and wrinkled than she remembered as she reached up to run a thumb over the frame. There were photos of Sara with a toddler on her lap, tying his shoes while he patted her cheeks with chubby hands. Nick pushing a little boy on a swing, both of them laughing. A little league team with Nick in a matching ball cap. A high school play with a tall, lanky, dark-haired boy at center stage. Sara and Nick, both grayer, both proud, flanking the same boy in graduation robes, first high school, then college. Nick beaming and holding a newborn granddaughter up to the camera's view. Sara napping on the couch while the granddaughter, now walking, grooms Sara's silver hair with a doll's brush. A much older Sara and Nick together on the steps of a front porch, smiling at each other and seemingly unaware of the camera. And a mirror.

Dream Sara gasped and reached her hands up to her face. When had she gotten so... old? Her hair was completely gray but framed her face in its usual disorderly waves, her skin was wrinkled and she had age spots on her hands as they touched her withered cheeks. Just as she was about to despair that her life had slipped away so quickly, she met her own eyes in the mirror.

She looked happy. Her clear brown eyes danced beneath raised brows, laugh lines etched in the corners, and for the first time in her life, as Sara regarded her smiling reflection, she felt beautiful.

Nick's voice interrupted her musings. "Come back to bed, darlin', it's too cold without you."

She turned. His hair was a bright white and rumpled from sleep. His smile lines had deepened but were still as she knew him now, and his dark, dark eyes were sparking with mischief. He was shirtless, and a fluff of white hair peeked above the sheets instead of the smooth chest she once teased him about. Dream Sara undressed and slid into bed beside him, feeling their softer bodies match up as their younger, firmer bodies had done. Nick's lips were gentle and she felt her eyes closing. "What happens next, baby?" 

She woke up before hearing his answer. And it appeared to be a very good morning.

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Very, Very Early Monday morning – Nick's POV

He could get used to this. Actually, Nick supposed, he _was_ getting used to this. He was spooned around Sara's long, naked back, his legs twined with hers, and his alert, throbbing cock nudging her sweet little... Nick grinned, and moved his lips up the back of her neck until he felt her shiver and moan. He moved his hands northward toward her breasts and was in the process of massaging her nipples into taut points when he heard Sara's moan change to a frustrated groan. Lifting his head, Nick listened for a moment. His groan joined hers when the familiar beeping of their pagers chorused from the bathroom floor.

Sara rolled over and smiled at him, looking tousled but significantly better than she had upon arrival the night before. Nick felt his eyes close at the feel of her palm against his cheek and her thumb brushing his lips before she pressed her mouth to his tenderly. "Thank you," she whispered.

He opened his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. "That's what friends are for, Sara. And no matter what else we are or may become, we were friends first. I love you, darlin'."

Nick found himself short of breath when her arms tightly clasped around him. He laughed lightly, kissed the side of her ear, and mumbled, "We should probably see what the hell Brass wants."

"My money's on Grissom. It's been way too long since we've heard from him." She looked slightly uncomfortable, but shook it off and disentangled herself after one final squeeze. Nick lay back to enjoy the view of her bare body making its way to the bathroom and back, pagers in hand, chuckling. "We were both right. Brass paged me, Grissom paged you." She tossed him his pager and turned quickly toward the living room. Nick heard some soft thumping and she returned to bed, dropping their cell phones onto the bedside table, clambering under the covers and snuggling against him. At the feel of her cool skin on his chest, Nick dropped the pager and burrowed under the quilts, nuzzling his way down to her breasts. Sara moaned. "We should...ah, Nick... um, baby... ah... should call them back...oooohhh..."

They ignored the pagers one more time before they returned the calls.


	9. Chapter 9

No More Roses

by Kristafied

Rating: Teen (for language and mild smut)

A/N: Reminder: Cocoa and Mama Day are both characters from Gloria Naylor's brilliant novel, _Mama Day._ They are used with great respect for the book and its author.

Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn't have all this debt from grad school.

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Monday Morning – Nick's POV

Grissom looked at him a little cross-eyed when he entered the lab slightly late, freshly showered, whistling, and with a cheerful, shit-eating grin on his face, but Nick figured the man deserved it. As much as he respected Grissom professionally, Nick figured the deal not to flaunt his relationship with Sara had pretty much been nullified after their little tableau on the break room couch. Feeling far better than he'd anticipated when he'd stormed out of the lab the day before, Nick merely met Grissom's stare head-on and went about his business.

Sara had taken her own car to meet Brass back at Big Mike's to review the scene with fresh eyes and the new information about Karen's disappearance before they coralled the man in the interrogation room. Sharon Lewis had been admitted to the hospital – still in police custody. After finishing their calls earlier that morning, Sara had filled him in as they grabbed a quick breakfast standing at his kitchen counter, and Nick had gotten a huge kick out of the story about Sanderson and his financée. He checked with some buddies at PD, and word had it that Sanderson was still standing guard on Sharon Lewis because it freaked her out. Other guys had volunteered to trade shifts with him, and bets were being placed to see how long his marathon would last. Nick had joked with Sara that his bet would be on how long Brass let the whole thing go on before he kicked Sanderson out of the hospital to go home and shower.

Nick's conversation with Grissom had been stilted but civil: the labs were back on Karen Lewis and showed toxic levels of heroin and cocaine, Hodges had examined some of the trace taken from Karen's body with unexpected results, and Nick should come check it out.

Two hours later, Nick found himself standing in front of the Eighth Day Herbal Shop with the printout from the Trace Lab in his pocket. He pushed open the front door, hearing the gentle tinkle of its old-fashioned bell, paused in the doorway and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

The shop was cool and peaceful, filled with potted plants which were clearly growing the fresh herbs which perfumed the air with a complex, clean scent. Nick felt tension easing from his shoulders as he took in his surroundings. Ceiling fans spun lazily overhead, more decorative than practical, as the shop, like the rest of Vegas, clearly had central air conditioning. Two of the walls had windows, in front of which were multiple shelves of the potted herbs. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the walls, and there was a large bookshelf in the back of the store with worn armchairs beckoning him to sit and read. At first, Nick thought there was a nature tape playing from speakers artfully concealed somewhere in the shop, but then he realized that there was a birds' nest high in the far corner and the birds were flitting around, unconcerned by his presence.

A fabric curtain moved behind the counter, and Cocoa Jackson smiled a hello. Nick extended a hand to her and she shook it. "Ms. Jackson, nice to see you again, and thank you for offering your expertise."

"Of course, Mr. Stokes. You said on the phone that you had found an unusual collection of herbal residues during your investigation and wished to learn more about them?"

"Yes, ma'am." Nick extracted the copy of the trace results – one altered to protect Karen Lewis's identity – and handed it to Cocoa.

She read over the list, mumbling the ingredients under her breath. "Angelica, blueberry, rue, motherswort, dill, balm of Gilead..." Her voice trailed off and she brought a slender hand to her mouth. "Oh, God." Wide, horrified eyes met Nick's. "Oh, my God. Karen's dead, isn't she?"

Nick blinked, feeling the peace of mind that had settled over him evaporate. "What makes you say that, Ms. Jackson?"

The woman's thin frame, which suddenly reminded him of Sara, trembled, and she mutely waved him over toward the armchairs before falling into one herself. Nick followed and sat forward in his chair, propping his elbows on his knees and waiting for his companion to respond. "Call me Cocoa."

Nick did not allow his gaze to waver. "All right, ma'am. Cocoa it is. What makes you think that Karen Lewis is dead?"

Cocoa wiped at her eyes and composed herself. "I'm not from Las Vegas. Bud and I moved here from South Carolina when Sapphira was four. I grew up on one of the sea islands, along the Georgia – South Carolina border. Sharon Lewis was two years ahead of me in school and spent most of my childhood tormenting me. We knew each other, but were never friends, and until recently, I'd almost forgotten about her.

"I'm not sure how she found me, but about three weeks ago, she stumbled into the shop, looking awful. I had no idea who she was – when we were in school, she was the girl all the boys wanted: pretty, great figure, the works. I thought she was just another junkie and was threatening to call the police to get her to leave when she introduced herself. She said she knew who I was and she needed some powerful protection for her baby girl.

Cocoa smiled ruefully. "I'm an herbalist – most of what I sell here is for cooking or aromatherapy, some herbal remedies for colds and the like. I don't dabble in anything beyond that. My great-aunt, though, she was a conjure woman, a healer. Bud calls her a magician, mostly to tease me, but in truth, there were people who swore that's exactly what she was.

"Everyone on the island knew Mama Day. People said she could do things that most people couldn't. She never liked to talk about it, but she was very particular about being compared to any of the other folks on the island who worked roots and claimed to be powerful. Sharon came in because she wanted some of what she thinks Mama Day might have given her – some spell or potion for protection. She was very specific about that – she wanted to protect Karen – and she was obviously quite upset.

"Mr. Stokes, I told Sharon I wasn't Mama Day, but I could give her some herbs that had historically been used for protective purposes. She was a mess – tapping her hands and feet, sniffling, looking around constantly – I knew something was wrong, but she wouldn't tell me. Once I handed her the package, she suddenly changed her demeanor, sneered at me and called me names I haven't heard since I was fourteen, and ran out of the store without paying."

"Did you report the theft to the police?"

Cocoa shrugged. "No. What I gave her wasn't that expensive, and she probably couldn't have paid me anyway. I knew from watching her those few minutes that there wasn't any punishment I could send her way that would top what she'd already done to herself. It wasn't worth it."

Nick nodded. "Do you have security cameras?" The snort and skeptical purse of the lips again reminded Nick of Sara. He couldn't help but smile a little. "I guess that's a no, then. So the list of herbs I just showed you..."

She nodded, and finished the sentence. "...is the same as the herbs I put together for Sharon. I keep records of my sales – I can give you a copy if you'd like."

"Thank you, that would be quite helpful." They rose from their chairs and Nick followed Cocoa to the back room, where she had a small office with a computer and a printer/copier. He smiled. "I almost expected you to have everything written by hand."

"Nah. I worked as an office manager for years before opening the store. This is much easier." A few mouse clicks had the printer humming and Cocoa handed Nick the itemized invoice. She hesitated. "How did she die?"

"You never did answer me before. Why are you assuming Karen's dead?" Nick turned back to Cocoa and narrowed his eyes.

Cocoa lifted her chin and met his gaze steadily. "Because you're here, Mr. Stokes."


End file.
